


Bulkhead and Wheeljack's Song- Not Gonna Die

by EbonyAura



Series: Metal: Cybertron's Rock and Roll [3]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Development, M/M, Nightmares, Rock and Roll, Romance, Suggestive Themes, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 09:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: Nothing good ever comes easy, especially when you're a Wrecker. Sometimes, everything comes at you with the force of a blast, and all you can do is prey you'll survive the fire.Imagine six stellar cycles after the Autobot and Decepticon bands' first world tour, and Bulkhead's finally spending some well-deserved quality time with his bonded, Wheeljack... Until said Wrecker gets a call, and he's gone again.These cycles are the hardest for Bulkhead, and there's nothing he can do about it. All he can do is finish the song, lose his processor in the numbing chaos of rock and roll, and hope that maybe Wheeljack will be waiting at home when he returns.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look! Another sequel! Man, that took me way too long...
> 
> I do NOT own any of the songs that will be quoted or the characters that will be within this story, they are the property of their respective owners!
> 
> This story will be updated randomly, and WILL be finished within the next month or so. Enjoy!

_I would’ve died for all the ungrateful glitches on Cybertron._   
_What do you think I’d do for someone I love?_

The ground beneath him erupted. Shards of mineral stone and the fiery wave of the blast knocked him off his peds, throwing him like a strutless corpse at the other side of the cave. His back slammed against the concave wall, and pain shot through his nerve receptors. As his frame slid down to the scorched ground, he reached a shaky servo out to push against the wall and roll himself on his front. From there, he slowly moved his arm struts under him, gritting his denta as he pushed himself upright.

  
_Get up,_ his processor screamed at him. _Get up, get up, get up!_

  
Around him, his audials picked up the far-away sounds of the other Wreckers shouting at each other. Or perhaps shouting at him. Wheeljack didn’t know, he couldn’t decipher wording anymore.

  
Suddenly, as his optics followed the ground beneath him he found a pair of peds racing toward him. They weren’t familiar. It was all he could do to crane his helm upwards and find the frame that belonged to those peds. In the minimal light of the burning flames around them, he could see the frame was black, and when he picked up traces of purple over it his spark halted a beat.

  
_Scrap_.

  
The peds stopped in front of him, and a glowing optical band glared down. Their sight met for a nanosecond, but no words were exchanged. The vehicon raised his arm strut, and Wheeljack was staring right into the end of a quickly heating blaster.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jackie! Jackie wake up!”  
  
The Wrecker shot up and out of berth, his servo automatically shifting forms and a hot blaster pointed dead ahead humming in a low tone.  
  
“It’s okay Jackie, you’re safe… It’s me, Bulkhead. You’re home.”  
  
His spark was pounding against his casing and the sound beat in his audials. But the sound of his bonded’s calm voice graced against them like a gentle stroke. His wide optics followed that sound to find Bulkhead upright on his side of their berth, his worn faceplates and his end of their spark-bond reflecting worry. He didn’t dare reach out to touch him.  
  
Wheeljack’s optics flicked around them, finding the familiar sights within their berthroom. On the far wall, the old Grimlock and the Dinobots rock poster glimmered in the dim light from the window, hung next to the much more recently created Autobot poster from their first world tour. On the storage cabinet next to their berth he found the image datapad pointed toward him, showing the Wreckers strike team after their first mission all those ano cycles ago. Their smiling faces reflected the pride and victory they’d felt that solar cycle. And next to that, a medal of honor from the mission that Wheeljack had to drag six stasis-locked members of his team out of a burning ship before it collapsed on them all.  
  
Shutting his optics tight against the onslaught of horrid memory files that would come with staring at that medal, the Wrecker sucked in a vent and forced his blaster to cool. Another few nanoseconds passed, he released the vent, and his servo shifted back into place.  
  
“Sorry, Bulk.”  
  
He mumbled, burying his faceplates into his servos. Bulkhead was silent for a moment before he pushed reassurance over their bond.  
  
“Must’ve been one pit of a nightmare this time, wasn’t it?”  
  
Bulkhead inquired quietly; a radical counter to how loud, outspoken, and carefree he could be during the light of the day. Wheeljack snorted lightly, derailing the shuddering sigh that would’ve come had he not found the lightness in Bulkhead’s tone funny. But he did. It was better for both their sakes.  
  
“You could say that.”


	3. Chapter 3

_This is how it feels when you're bent and broken!_  
 _This is how it feels when your dignity's stolen!_  
  
The drummer’s optics dimmed as he meditated on the lyrics rolling around his processor. Everything was already there. The emotions, the words to describe them, and the story to come with it swirled in his spark. They just needed to come forth into the datapad sitting in front of him. Only problem was you couldn’t write everything you thought at once. Had to be one chronological word at a time unless you wanted it to be a muddled mess. Which happened to the greatest of song writers, even Alpha Trion.  
  
“What ‘cha doing Bulk?”  
  
Warmth and curiosity suddenly pulsed into his spark through a familiar bond, and Bulkhead looked up to see his bonded strolling easily into the kitchen area from the hallway. His optics were calm, and his grin held a tease. No small amount of relief seeped into Bulkhead’s spark, and the expression made Bulkhead smile back. The events of the night cycle before were gone and forgotten.  
  
“Working on something for the band’s next album. You?”  
  
Wheeljack shrugged as he sauntered over towards the cabinets.  
  
“Looking for something hot and sustainable for the next cycle.”  
  
Bulkhead chuckled. He let his optics follow the Wrecker as he slid the opening back and his servo came back with the first energon cube in sight. Wheeljack’s winglets twitched, an action that the drummer would never admit to adoring. Then he glanced back down at the datapad, rereading the first verse that stared back at him.  
  
“Thought the boss bot already had the album written? Isn’t it due for release at the end of the week?”  
  
‘Boss bot’ was Wheeljack’s nickname for the Autobot band’s lead singer. Optimus had never minded it, and Wheeljack never meant anything by it. Bulkhead knew his bonded held a great degree of respect for him for what he’d gone through, how he’d recovered from it, and his taste in music. The drummer looked up again, this time saving the work on the datapad before turning it off and focusing on Wheeljack.  
  
“Yeah, but Prowl wants to put a bonus track in it, and Optimus is burnt out. I told the others I’d come up with something before then.”  
  
The energon heater dinged, signaling its completion, and the Wrecker removed the steaming cube and raised it to his lip plates.  
  
“Well it’s about time Bulk. Haven’t seen you write a song in… Think six ano cycles now.”  
  
When he looked over to see his bonded’s optics narrow, Wheeljack snickered.  
  
“What? I enjoy your work. Think you should do it more often.”  
  
He nudged the other side of their bond playfully as he walked over and sat next to the drummer, knocking their leg plating together with a small clunk. Bulkhead sighed.  
  
“You know it’s not that simple Jackie. I’m busy enough figuring out drum melodies and rehearsing for our next concert. I can’t just come up with a song and the time to write it on a whim.”  
  
The Wrecker’s optics and teasing smirk softened. Placing his servo against the base of the other’s neck strut, he began to rub away their stiff tension.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Bulkhead immediately leaned into the touch, sighing again at the closeness of his bonded. A closeness that was rare enough as it was. Wheeljack observed the action before rubbing harder and in longer strokes.  
  
“Think you need to relax Bulk.”  
  
Out of the corner of his optic, the drummer watched as the steaming cube of energon, barely touched, was placed on the small low table in front of them. Whatever he might’ve said about it was then derailed as Wheeljack pulled a quiet moan from the bottom of his intake.  
  
“Jackie… I need to finish the song.”  
  
He whined weakly. But the Wrecker’s advances did not cease. Instead they continued, and Wheeljack leaned his frame against the drummer’s big arm strut. His quickly heating frame, Bulkhead noticed.  
  
“Not before I finish you, sweetspark.”  
  
Wheeljack whispered in his audial, making Bulkhead shudder. He did not protest further when their intakes met, and he was pushed backwards to the arm of the couch.  
His bonded was right. He would have time to finish the song later. But their moments of intimacy were now or never. Only Primus knew when Wheeljack would be called back to duty, and he would have to wonder if this might be the last time they saw each other again.


	4. Chapter 4

Wheeljack’s comm link rang that night cycle, and they both knew exactly who it was. 

Bulkhead watched wordlessly as Wheeljack sat up in berth, his digits coming up to the link in his audial.

“Yes?”

His expression was already darkening, and Bulkhead’s spark had already sunken. When they’d first bonded, they held hope every time it wasn’t who they thought it was. But they’d been proven wrong too many times. Eventually, they stopped trying to fool themselves. 

“Yes, commander.”

The Wrecker’s digits fell from his audial, and he stared at the berth beneath him, not once meeting his bonded’s optics. Then, like a jolt of energy had passed through him, his helm snapped up and he stood up from the berth. Bulkhead sat up, his optics following the Wrecker’s every movement as he opened the subspace in the closet of their berthroom, clipping the energy whip to his side and subspacing the other two blasters stored in there. His movements were mechanical, every swing of his limbs or rolling of his joints performed way too calmly. Coolant almost slipped from Bulkhead’s optics at the sight.

Finally, Wheeljack turned to him, and their optics met. All emotion on his side of the bond was tightly reigned in, only his optics betrayed a small hint of sorrow. But Bulkhead had never tried to hide the mess his emotions made of his spark every time, and now was not the time to start. The Wrecker walked stiffly around the berth and sat in front of him, gripping his servos tightly. 

“Love you Bulk.” 

He spoke evenly. Then he leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bonded’s forehelm. 

“Finish that song for me, will you?”

The drummer withheld a vent of air. Because if he had released it, it would’ve become a sob. He nodded, staring intently at his bonded’s faceplates to etch them into his memory files. Like he did every time they parted. 

“I love you Jackie.” 

Bulkhead stammered out each vowel, determined to not let his voice shake. The corner of Wheeljack’s lip plates pulled up into a small smile. But as quickly as it came, it was gone. And with long strides absent of his usual saunter, Wheeljack was gone too.

Bulkhead buried his faceplates in his servos. He wouldn’t be getting any more recharge tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for not updating for so long... I'm sorry guys :'(  
> I hope you enjoy the rest of this work.

“Hey Doc.”  
  
Ratchet looked up from the datapad he’d been reading.  
  
“Bulkhead, we weren’t expecting you for another groon or two. Wheeljack didn’t come with you?”  
  
The drummer didn’t respond, but his shoulders fell. The doc-bot’s optics suddenly flashed with a familiar understanding, and he pushed himself up from his slouched seat on the couch. He observed carefully as Bulkhead sunk into the seat next to him, leaning back and sighing. Why did their recording studio’s couches have to be so much more comfortable than his own?  
  
“Called back for duty?”  
  
He inquired. Bulkhead nodded quietly. Ratchet set the datapad in his servos aside, then placed his servo on the drummer’s shoulder armor. When his helm turned, he was met with an expression of compassion that was barely seen on the doc-bot. No words were spoken. Mostly because no words could change anything. It was just something they’d come to understand and deal with. Bulkhead smiled gratefully at the elder bot. A smile which was kindly returned. _Ratchet’s more compassionate than he’ll ever know… Or_ _accept_. The green bot nearly snickered at the thought.  
  
Just then, the studio’s door slid open, catching both of their attention. A well-known tall red and blue mech walked in, optics trained on the ground in what was clearly bashfulness. The drummer watched him curiously, wondering why, until he noticed something else odd. A very slight limp to the Prime’s walk… Ratchet and Bulkhead both reached the same conclusion at once, if the doc-bot’s delightfully surprised field was anything to go by. Bulkhead’s jaw was dropped and unhinged before he could do anything about it.  
  
“Optimus Prime!”  
  
Ratchet exclaimed in a tone that expressed every bit of his humored reaction. The Prime immediately froze then wheeled around on his peds, staring at the two of them as if he hadn’t even noticed they were there. Which he probably hadn’t. He was met with Ratchet’s sparkling optics and amused grin, along with Bulkhead’s silent shock.  
  
“Good early cycle, Ratchet. Bulkhead.”  
  
Optimus acknowledged carefully, caught off guard and unsure how to further react. But Ratchet seemed to only find it more entertaining, leaning his arms up and over the back of the couch.  
  
“Had an eventful night cycle with Megatron, didn’t you?”  
  
The Prime’s optics blew wide. He opened his intake to say something, but nothing came from his voice box, so he closed it again. Bulkhead could see Ratchet was on the verge of laughing. His optics sparkled with mirth as Optimus rubbed his servo over his arm strut.  
  
“Oh, you did! It’s about fragging time!”  
  
Ratchet finally burst out. Over an ano cycle since their lead singer had officially become partners with the Kaonian, and only now did they begin their indulgence on carnal pleasures. Optimus instantly stared at him in aggravation. But doc-bot was on a roll, and he wasn’t done.  
  
“Was he big? A lot of bots say Kaonian mechs like him are _really_ big. And _long_. Was he long too?”  
  
Mortification was next to spread over the Prime’s faceplates like wildfire.  
  
_“Ratchet!!”_  
  
“Oh, come on Optimus! We’ve got to talk fragging! And from the looks of that limp, he _must_ have been thick!”  
  
Bulkhead’s jaw finally closed. He had never seen so many different expressions fly over their lead singer’s faceplates at once. It was hard to decipher what one was before it changed. Finally, the Prime’s optics once again fell to the floor bashfully.  
  
“… Yes. He’s really big.”  
  
Optimus muttered. Ratchet’s smile only grew, and his humored field brushed against the other teasingly.  
  
The door to the studio opened once again, and this time Arcee and Bumblebee bounded in.  
  
“Hey! Guys…”  
  
The young black and yellow bot trailed off as he and the femme stopped in front of the other members of their band. He stared at their Prime hard for a moment, before his optics widened.  
  
“… Optimus, what happened to your neck cables?”  
  
Everyone’s attention immediately rounded on the Prime, who began to shrink under everyone’s gaze. And sure enough, spots of dried energon outlined what clearly was a bite mark. Ratchet fell back on the couch and nearly offlined in laughter. Bulkhead figured there was no use keeping the others out of the loop.  
  
“Optimus and Megatron finally ‘did it’ last night cycle.”  
  
Bumblebee’s jaw could’ve smacked the ground. Arcee, on the other hand, felt a smirk curling on her lip plates as she folded her arm struts over her chest plates.  
  
“Let me guess. You drama bots have been gossiping about it since you got here?”  
  
Ratchet shrugged with faked innocence.  
  
“Only since he got here! We were just getting started!”  
  
“Young bot in the room! Please spare me my audials!”  
  
The young yellow and black guitarist suddenly blurt out, slapping his servos over his audials and turning around with twitching doorwings. Ratchet scoffed and was about to come back with a quipped remark about the hypocrisy of the statement, when the Prime hastily beat him to the punch.  
  
“Yes, let’s please be courteous Ratchet! We have work that needs to be done before the end of the cycle!”  
  
That’s when Bulkhead remembered the datapad with the finished song stored in his subspace. Removing it and awkwardly clearing his intake to attract the lead singer’s attention, he held it out towards him.  
  
“Uh, I know you were having trouble coming up with another song for the album. This is uh, just something I came up with last cycle. Thought maybe we could make it work?”  
  
The Prime’s optics brightened just slightly, and he walked around the couch to sit next to Bulkhead. A small grin appeared on his faceplates as he took the datapad from the drummer.  
  
“That was very kind of you Bulkhead, thank you.”  
  
Bulkhead rubbed the back of his neck strut bashfully at the spark-felt appreciation in the statement. Ratchet, on the other side of Bulkhead, rolled his optics and pointed at the Prime.  
  
“This conversation isn’t over, Optimus.”  
  
But he wasn’t paying attention, instead absorbed in the datapad as he read over the lyrics. Arcee and Bumblebee were soon leaning over the top of the couch, reading from over the Prime’s shoulder. Even Ratchet eventually rose from his seat and circled around to the other side of the couch, leaning in to see. The last time their drummer had written a song, it ranked top ten for three different radio stations in Iacon. But that had been over six ano cycles ago. Bulkhead watched them all a tad nervously, tapping his digits against his leg struts to break the silence.  
  
Finally, Optimus looked up at the drummer with a widening smile. His field brushed against him in amazement, causing Bulkhead to recycle his optics in surprise.  
  
“Bulkhead, this is incredible! It will be a perfect bonus track for the album!”  
  
Arcee and Ratchet nodded in agreement.  
  
“This’ll be a good counter to all the slow love songs _some bot_ wrote in this one.”  
  
Ratchet said slyly, glancing over at the Prime. Optimus gave the doc-bot a sidelong glare. Bumblebee’s wing’s fluttered as excitement grew in his field.  
  
“This looks pretty hardcore, maybe I can even fit a guitar solo in there!”  
  
“So Bulk, what’d you have in mind for instrumental and note range?”  
  
All optics of the band were on him, unwavering in anticipation of some hardcore rock. Bulkhead vented a quick puff of air, hoping that this would work, and began to explain his song.


	6. Chapter 6

It was 05:56. Dawn had yet to break the horizon. Wheeljack leaned against the railing and looked below. The long hallway beneath him was dark with frigid temperatures from the night cycle. But trained and piercing blue opticals could see the outline of every shape that marched towards the other side. One-hundred mecha with a blaster on each arm strut, a combat knife sheathed into each leg subspace compartment, and at least five bombs fastened to their waist straps. That meant two-hundred blasters and two-hundred knives to face if he aimed too high, and at least five-hundred bombs to look forward to if he aimed too low.  
  
_Well scrap, what could possibly go wrong here?_  
  
_“Command Unit to Sniper team; report your locations.”_  
  
The Wrecker glanced up momentarily, spotting out the other three mecha hidden in the rafters and balcony walkways as they responded.  
  
_“Sniper One; third rafter on the North Wall.”_  
  
_“Sniper Two; high walkway on the East Wall.”_  
  
_“Sniper Three; third rafter on the South Wall.”_  
  
Sniper Two, better yet known as Seaspray his teammate, glanced up from his position as well to meet optics with Wheeljack. He nodded once, and in response Wheeljack nodded back.  
  
“Sniper Four; high walkway on the West Wall.”  
  
He whispered, shifting his gaze back down below.  
  
_“Hold your positions. Do not engage until you are told.”_  
  
The Commander’s voice stabbed at his audials, and Wheeljack fought to not roll his optics.  
  
_“Copy, Command Unit.”_  
  
“Commander, this is a horrible plan.”  
  
He quipped into the comm link and took notice when the other snipers subtly looked up at him. He could’ve sworn he’d seen Seaspray roll his optics with a smirk. But then the sudden silence over the link was fractured.  
  
_“Sniper, unless you have a better idea to take down a classified army without attracting unwanted attention, you can shut your intake and be ready to shoot.”_  
  
This time he did roll his optics, shifting the rifle on his shoulder.  
  
“Whatever you say, Commander.”  
  
Silence responded over the link. Chances were if they ended up surviving this mission, Wheeljack had a lecture about the chain of command waiting for him back at base. To be fair, if they didn’t want him to be in the bad mood that he was, they could’ve at least waited until a more reasonable time in the cycle to wake his fraggin’ aft up.  
  
“UNITS, HALT!”  
  
The shouted order echoed below, and suddenly all soldiers were standing still. Instinct kicked in, and Wheeljack’s optical focused in the lens on the rifle.  
  
_“Sniper Team, on my mark.”_  
  
His digit slid over the trigger, holding steady from ano cycles of experience. Intaking a long vent, his processor counted down the seconds. And in the moment of silence before energon would fall and fire would rage, Wheeljack focused on the bond he had closed off to keep his bonded safe from the pain that would soon come.  
  
_I love you Bulk._  
  
He released the vent.  
  
_“Fire.”_

 ***

The violins echoed from the forefront of the song to the farthest reaches of its sound, giving it an epic beginning that promised chaos would ensue. Ratchet controlled it all from his keyboard, glancing up to Bulkhead as the drummer counted out the beat. Then it ceased, trading off when Bulkhead slammed his base drums and their guitars collided in electric melody. It sounded good so far to his audials, and when he glanced towards Optimus in the glass case on their side, his one-sided smirk told Bulkhead he agreed.  
  
Count out the beat, establish the rhythm. _One, two, three._ Drummer and lead kept optic contact as the song progressed. One more count. _One, two, three…  
_  
_“Death surrounds,_  
 _my spark beat’s slowing down…_  
 _I won’t take this world’s abuse._  
 _I won’t give up, I refuse!”_  
  
Optimus all but snarled the lyrics, feeling the strength from each word rise as power into the noise. Fire flooded his energon. Bulkhead smirked as he pounded out the rhythm, he could feel the wrathful energy put into it.  
  
_“This is how it feels when you’re bent and broken!_  
 _This is how it feels when your dignity’s stolen!_  
 _When everything you love is leaving,_  
 _you hold onto what you believe in!”_  
  
Suddenly, the sound hushed, giving way to the keyboard set back to piano mode. The melody plucked was light but low, giving the song a somber note. Then, Ratchet picked up on a higher octave.  
  
_“The last thing I heard_  
 _was you whispering goodbye…_  
 _And then I heard you offline.”_  
  
Bulkhead closed his optics, counting down once more, and then slammed the drums to bring back the metal.  
  
_“No! Not gonna die tonight!_  
 _We're gonna stand and fight forever!”_

_“Don't close your optics!”_  
  
Optimus lead the chorus with lyrics sung so near a bellow it might’ve been hard to tell the difference. But Ratchet’s higher counter that followed in step brought it back to ground level, as if igniting the purpose behind the war cry.

_“No! Not gonna die tonight!_   
_We're gonna fight for us together!_   
_No, we're not gonna die tonight!”_


	7. Chapter 7

***  
The warehouse erupted into a catastrophe of shouting, shooting, and falling frames. It took a full klik before the ground units got a grasp on what was happening to them, but that was enough to down what looked like half of them. Another half a klik passed, and Wheeljack watched the command unit charge out of the far hallway, opening fire on the remaining soldiers.  
  
The survivors finally seemed to gather their wits when an enemy ground force charged them, scattering and taking cover behind the beams that held the high stairways and stretched to the ceiling.  
  
_“Command Unit, swipe the ground level and block all exits! Nothing gets out!”_  
  
For a split nanosecond as he picked off survivors running for cover, Wheeljack thought maybe this plan wasn’t so horrible after all. But no one was prepared for the sudden explosion on the North Wall that shook the warehouse’s foundation. The walkway he stood on shuddered, and he gripped the railing tightly as he glanced over towards fire engulfing the rafters. His optics widened. Their posts had been revealed.  
  
_“Sniper One is down! Repeat, Sniper One is down!”_  
  
Sniper Three shouted into the link.  
  
_“Sniper Team, evacuate your posts!”_  
  
Wheeljack glanced up at Seaspray. The other sniper nodded again at him, and they both sprinted for the South Wall. The objective now was to get off the walkway and to the ground. Ladders stood on the South side where Sniper Three was already climbing down. Something whizzed past him as he ran and Wheeljack cursed, sprinting faster to avoid the weapons fire from down below.  
  
_Well this should be a fun trip down._  
  
Suddenly, another explosion lit up the warehouse on the East Wall and the walkway shuddered again. Wheeljack had to stop to remain on his peds, whipping his helm towards the other side. The east walkway now had a giant hole in it, and Sniper Two was nowhere to be seen. His spark flared.  
  
“SEASPRAY!!”

 ***

_“Break their hold…_  
 _Cause I won't be controlled._  
 _They can't keep their chains on me,_  
 _when the truth has set me free!”_  
  
The room shook from the sound pulsing through it. Each member of the Autobot band reveled in it. The sheer rage that emerged from the chaos wrapped around Bulkhead and spun, almost making him dizzy. The song was turning out so much better than he thought it would sound. In fact, this one was sure to make top 5 in the next countdown on Metal. But that didn’t matter now. Not in this moment.  
  
_“This is how it feels when you take your life back!_  
 _This is how it feels when you finally fight back!_  
 _When life pushes me, I push harder!_  
 _What doesn't kill me makes me stronger!”_  
  
From the case, their lead singer’s field flared out and touched the drummer, echoing spark-felt appreciation for each word that only grew that much more personal. Bulkhead was inclined to agree, and he pushed it right back. Except for him, a certain Wrecker was coming to processor, dodging energy blasts and throwing it right back at them with that mischievous smirk on his faceplates. His spark flared, and he slammed the drums before the piano returned.  
  
_“The last thing I heard_  
 _was you whispering goodbye…_  
 _And then I heard you offline.”_  
  
_“NO!”_


	8. Chapter 8

***  
 _Move, you scrapheap._  
  
Bullets rocketed past him and ricocheted off every surface. Shaking his helm vigorously to gain back focus, Wheeljack pushed himself to his peds and started to jog towards the ladder.  
  
_Gotta get to ground level…_  
  
Something clunked behind him, like an object had dropped onto the walkway. The sniper glanced over his shoulder armor, finding the telltale glow of a grenade, and his energon ran cold. He burst into a sprint, gaining enough length to not be knocked off his peds when the blast erupted. But the center of the walkway blew to bits, leaving the metal rails on his end to warp dangerously as it began to collapse in on itself. With a grunt he threw himself at the ladder, digits clawing at the bars as he jumped… And just missed them.  
  
His frame slammed into the grated bottom of the walkway, knocking the air out of his vents. Gunfire faded to the back of his processor as he pushed his servos under him, trying to get up. Instead, his frame began to slide backwards, down the slope of the grated surface as the walkway warped further downward. He regained his vents just in time to gasp at the sensation, arm struts flinging out and clawing at the surface to find purchase to grab onto. But the holes in the grating were too small, and his digits slipped over them. His frame picked up speed as it slid, and he glanced down to see the broken and burning edges of the walkway looming in his vision, jagged and warped from the force of the blast.  
  
In a last-ditch effort as he fell, he rolled himself towards the side, reaching out and grasping the last rail still intact before there was nothing left underneath him. This time his grip held, and he clung to that rail with every bit of strength still within him. Daring to glance down, he found at least forty lengths of a fall between him and soldiers scattered and running on the ground. Tightening his fist around the rail, Wheeljack tried to pull himself back over the side onto the grating, other servo grasping at the other side. The walkway shuddered again, and it bounced him, shooting panic through his spinal strut as he returned his focus on holding onto the rail and looked up at the other end by the ladder. His weight on the end was warping the metal from the side of the wall. His energon went cold. It was only a matter of nanoseconds before the metal would finally break and the walkway would drop. Chances were he wouldn’t survive the impact.  
  
_Well, scrap._  
  
Groaning to himself, Wheeljack knocked his helm against the grating in frustration. He didn’t want to offline like this. Not when he still had a whole lot of afts to kick, and Bulkhead—His spark flared in its casing.  
  
_Bulkhead…_  
  
He clenched his optics shut as he realized his bonded would never forgive him for this. Cause how could he offline here? Now? He had to go home. He had to listen to that new song that Bulkhead was writing before it hit the radio…  
  
The walkway shuddered, and the metal beams snapped.

 ***

_“Not gonna die tonight!_   
_We're gonna stand and fight forever!”_

_“Don't close your optics!”_

_“No! Not gonna die tonight!_  
 _We're gonna fight for us together!_  
 _No, we're not gonna die tonight!”_  
  
Arcee struck the base notes on her guitar with steely precision, timed with each moment Bulkhead hit the cymbals. With each passing nanosecond, the song built in intensity. He forgot to focus on how the song sounded. Like the others, the drummer was pulled into everything the was the song and became a part of it. His spark pounded in its casing, finding exhilaration the best distraction to the pain that distance and fear brought.  
  
_“Don’t you give up on me!_  
 _You’re everything I need!”_  
  
Bulkhead could’ve cried when Optimus sang the final verse.  
  
_You hear that Jackie? You hear me?!_  
  
He screamed at the barrier in their bond, pounding raw emotion against it like fists to a wall. Jackie wouldn’t hear him, but Cybertron would. Finally, after too many ano cycles of watching out a window waiting for a soldier to come home, his pain could be heard. His anguish would not go silent for one more cycle.  
  
Wheeljack would’ve offlined for all the ungrateful glitches on Cybertron, because that was just the bot he was. For Bulkhead… he would’ve thrown himself in the Pit and challenged Unicron himself. So that’s what he did, every time he walked out that door with a blaster in his servo.  
  
Bulkhead was done being silent for the hero Wheeljack was.  
  
_“This is how it feels when you take your life back!_  
_This is how it feels when you fight back!”_


	9. Chapter 9

***  
For a moment, all he knew was a sensation of weightlessness. Suspension in the air around him, as if he were flying. It would’ve been awestriking if it were any other situation.

  
The next moment, all his senses returned to him, and he felt himself pummeling to the ground with the walkway. Below on ground level, bots still scampered in the shadow of the falling metal, trying to duck and cover from blasts and bullets aimed every which way.  
  
The following moment, Wheeljack acted on an instinct he didn’t know he had and twisted his servo on the railing just enough to swing himself back over the grating. Yanking downwards, his peds hit the grating. He grabbed the railings on both sides, bent his knee struts, and focused his vision downwards as he braced his frame for impact.  
  
“Nice knowing you, glitches.”  
  
The twenty or so mecha that remained under the falling walkway only had about two nanoseconds to stop and look up before it smashed to the ground, crushing them instantly.  
  
Ten nanoseconds passed and Wheeljack regained his footing as he stepped off the grating, glancing at the disembodied parts below with a sidelong smirk.  
  
“Thanks for the cushioning.”  
  
_“All remaining Wreckers, close in the center for the final sweep!”_  
  
Slowly, his helm turned in the direction of the center of the warehouse hall. About thirty survivors of the classified army were backing into the center, surrounded by his teammates. Optics turning murderous, he narrowed focus in on them, and unclipped energy whip from its place at his side.  
  
“Copy that, Commander.”  
  
He growled, releasing the whip with a flick of his wrist and flinging energy bolts into the air. He charged.  
  
_This is for you, Seaspray._

 ***

The voice of Bumblebee’s guitar rang through the air and vibrated into the ground. His digits slid and pricked over the strings as he rocketed his whole frame forward, putting everything he was into the solo of this song. Bumblebee never gave any less for any other song, but Bulkhead felt as if he’d put that much more soul into this one, and it made him smile at the young guitarist.  
  
When he reached the end of his solo, the song came to its close. Bulkhead counted down the nanoseconds as he leads the others to the beat of the drum. The violins return to bring the epic beginning back like its answering its own question. Their reign of chaos revolves around them one last time, and Bulkhead growls as he lets the anger in his spark shoot up his arm struts to take it out on the drums he knows so well. Optimus and Ratchet take the song down to the end, echoing off one another as they put forth its final message.  
  
_“Not gonna die!”_

_“Not gonna die!”_

_“Not gonna die!”_

_“Not gonna die!”_

_“Not gonna die tonight!!”_  
  
BA-DUM, BA-DUM, BA-DUM!  
  
The song ceases on the three count, and the recording studio falls quiet until they hear applause over the speakers from the other room.  
  
“Way to bring down the roof, guys! That was awesome!!”  
  
Jazz’s enthusiastic voice suddenly fills the void the sound left, and the band looks up from their instruments to see him bounding on his peds in excitement beside a smiling Prowl.  
  
“Jazz is right, Bulkhead. _That_ was an awesome song.”  
  
Arcee says with a smile to her voice. The drummer, still trying to catch up with his vents, shifts to look up at the femme. Her warm expression is spark-felt, and Bulkhead gives her a lop-sided smile in return. When he looks over to the glass the encases their lead singer, he finds emotions of gratitude and awe dancing over Optimus’ optics. The Prime nods to him, and he manages to nod back.  
  
Just then, his comm link pings in his audial, causing him to jolt in his seat. The other band members look on curiously as he gets up.  
  
“Sorry guys, someone’s on comm. I’ll be right back.”  
  
They nod as he exits the recording studio, walking into the hallway before answering the ping.


	10. Chapter 10

The warehouse is nearly burnt to the ground, and the efforts of first responders do nothing to quench the flames. The Wreckers stand by at the top of a nearby building, watching the building crumble to ash. Their plating is scorched, their blasters are clean out of ammo, and there’s more energon dripping to the ground than anyone wants to admit. But they’re alive, and there’s an evac seeker in route to take them back to Iacon.  
  
“Commander…”  
  
Wheeljack inquires slowly as the tall mech turns around from his second in command to the sniper. He clears his intake.  
  
“About before… When I said this was a horrible plan…”  
  
The commander immediately shakes his helm, putting up a servo to dissuade whatever Wheeljack might’ve said next. It effectively shuts him up, because he sucks at apologies.  
  
“Save it, soldier. You were right, it was a horrible plan.”  
  
Wheeljack raises an optical brow, staring up at the mech in confusion. But then he continues.  
  
“But the target was neutralized, and no civilians were harmed in the process. That’s a job well done for the Wreckers.”  
  
His processor takes a klik to realize that the commander was actually complimenting their unit. But when it hits him, he offers a lop-sided smirk.  
  
“So… does that mean I can get out of my next lecture for talking back to my superior?”  
  
The commander frowns at the inquiry, and the Wrecker’s winglets droop slightly, taking that as a no. He watches as the tall mech’s optics flicker behind him before focusing back.  
  
“… I’ll only let it go, soldier, if you assist your wounded teammate.”  
  
He states, gesturing behind the sniper. Wheeljack recycles his optics as he turns to look where the commander is pointing. His spark halts in a pulse and his optics cycle wide.  
  
“Seaspray…?”  
  
Sniper Two is covered in energon and leans on his rifle, using it as a crutch as he limps forward from the stairway he stepped onto the roof from. Wheeljack immediately sprints towards him, not even noticing the warming expression on the commander’s faceplates that could’ve passed for a smile. He turns away at his SIC’s call.  
  
“You just couldn’t wait for me, could you Wheeljack?”  
  
The white Wrecker slides to a stop in front of his injured teammate, looping the blue and orange bot’s arm strut over his shoulders and taking on most of his weight with a grunt.  
  
“I heard that grenade hit the walkway! Saw it leave a fraggin' hole the size of a Titan’s alt mode! Thought you’d been blown to bits!”  
  
Seaspray chuckles as his friend babbles, then huffs in relief of less weight on his peds.  
  
“You know it isn’t that easy to get rid of me. We’re Wreckers for Pit’s sake.”  
  
Wheeljack stares at him hard for a long moment until he narrows his optics and shakes his head with a smirk.  
  
“You old barnacle butt.”  
  
They share a chuckle that’s soon overshadowed by the sound of jet engines overhead. Wheeljack squints as he looks up, watching the evac plane hover down to the roof and open its back platform. The commander shouts over the engines.  
  
“Wreckers, load up!”  
  
Snipers Two and Four slowly but steadily make their way toward the other side of the roof and onto the platform of the plane. Their commander waits patiently, and boards with them.  
  
“… Commander.”  
  
Sniper Two rasps. The tall mech looks over as Seaspray heaves a cough. Wheeljack eases him onto a bench built into the wall of the plane and sits beside him.  
  
“We kicked aft this cycle… After this, I don’t wanna hear anything from you for the next stellar cycle.”  
  
The commander gazes at them both with a hard expression as the platform closes and the jet shoots back into the sky of Cybertron. Finally, his expression softens.  
  
“Soldier, after this I’m putting the Wrecker Unit on leave for the next two stellar cycles.”  
  
Wheeljack’s helm snaps up with shock as the commander walks away, too afraid of him turning around to dismiss the statement just made to let his spark become joyful. Seaspray chuckles again, elbowing the fellow Wrecker with a sparkle in his optic.  
  
“Guess that means you got a call to make to that bonded of yours, huh?”  
  
Seaspray winks, and that’s enough to make Wheeljack’s spark bound for joy. He grins, patting his fellow Wrecker’s shoulder armor before rising from the bench and wandering a few steps forward and dialing a certain comm link code.  
  
“Jackie?! What are you doing?! Why are you calling me while you’re on active duty?!”  
  
His optics offline and he can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from his spark.  
  
“Wanted to hear your voice, Bulk. What ‘cha doing?”  
  
He can almost hear the exasperated sigh from the other side of the link. He can almost see Bulkhead tapping his helm against his digits, trying to fend off the upcoming processor ache that Wheeljack always seemed to cause him when he did something risky like this. His spark pulsed fondly.  
  
“Uh… We just finished recording the bonus track for the album. It turned out pretty great, Jackie… I can’t wait for you to hear it.”  
  
Bulkhead’s voice lowers when he speaks the last sentence, and Wheeljack knows its emotion that caused it. His smile only widens.  
  
“Told you that you needed to do it more often, sweetspark.”  
  
He says with a smirk. Bulkhead chuckles sadly on the other end of the link. He hums.  
  
“How about to celebrate, you and me go to that bar on the corner by Swindles this evening cycle? We’ll try that new high grade mix that every bot’s been talkin’ about?”  
  
Bulkhead goes silent over the link, and Wheeljack opens his optics, knowing his bonded is trying to process what he just said.  
  
“But… you’re on… Jackie, does this mean…?”  
  
The naked hope in his bonded’s voice makes Wheeljack smile widely. He reaches for the barrier in their bond and tears it down, feeling a flood of emotions in his spark overshadowed by fear and hope. He answers with all the love his spark has to give.  
  
“Yeah, that’s right Bulk. I’m comin’ home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this work quoted (with minor edits for the story's sake) Not Gonna Die by Skillet
> 
> There are more works to come! Until then, rock on!


End file.
